


Teasing

by shihadchick



Category: U2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-02-27
Updated: 2003-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:08:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based around that photo of Larry and Edge getting out of a car and both grinning like mad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teasing

"Remember to smile for the cameras, Larry." Toe nudges his ankle, speculative. Teasing. Perfect undertone to the mocking voice of the man reclining, taking up far more space than any normal human should in the spacious back seat of their car.

"Oh," and a there's a wealth of meaning in that tone, "I'll smile, all right."

Edge suddenly wonders whether he should worry.

A tiny smile plays over Larry's lips, one only his closest friends see with any regularity. One that Edge treasures. The one that goes all the way up to match the light in his eyes and the quirk of a brow. And seeing that smile now, Edge thinks he'll worry.

Larry yawns again, stretches, fingers interlinking loosely over his head and brushing the roof of the car, before falling demurely back to his lap, a casual little movement that fools neither man.

Edge begins to get an inkling of where this game is heading. He leans back and smiles, his weight settling firmly into the padded seat, head turning naturally to look out the window. Man In Car Watches Scenery.

Companionable silence lasts a few moments, broken only by the most ordinary of sounds - breathing, the odd faint sigh, the small automatic compensation movements made as the car moves sleek and efficient through well kept streets.

Edge's gaze moves slowly, slide-rule in mind, smooth and well oiled over the buildings and monuments and homes they pass, falling easily into the habit of taking it in while he thinks of other things entirely. He sneaks glances at Larry every so often, terrain mapping the familiar features once more onto the schematic in a private corner of his mind.

The quick light-dark-light of a bridge overhead paints a fleeting penumbra over the drummer's fair features. Edge takes a moment to appreciate the aesthetics, thinking idly that Anton, too, would no doubt approve, playing the hoops of his earrings through his fingers, infinity loops, a tactile indulgence to keep his fingers busy. Behaving. It's then he notices that Larry too is involved in his own nervous habit, slender fingers beating a near silent tattoo on his thigh, and if Edge really strains he can hear the faint rasp of skin against denim. Not well enough to make out the tune - if it even is one, and not some mere random snatch of melody from the ether. Enough, however, to send his thoughts once more down a more licentious path than he will admit, even to himself.

Self preservation - or at the very least, preservation of some modicum of dignity draws his eyes to the window again, so when the warm pressure of five restless fingers lands on his own leg, it's completely without warning. He restrains the start of surprise and orders his muscles to relax.

He does not look over.

He manages a slow breath out, silent, expelling tension more than anything else, inhaling sharply as those practiced fingers dig and press, swinging from massage almost to acupuncture, he fancies, a slow erotic temptation, before they relax and slip forward further, dropping back to the level of good old-fashioned groping. Tracing the rhinestones patterning his jeans, dipping into the crease, and he can almost feel them on the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs, though his hand does not linger there long. Too risky, he thinks, unknowingly echoing his partner.

Points north, east, west and south are standing up and paying attention now, but the single moan that escapes as they enjoy this casual torment is a bare sub-vocalisation, audible only to a man whose head is bent in concentration, scant centimetres away now, although neither had quite intended that.

The streets outside have begun to be wider, busier. Noisier. Not just with traffic, either. Yelling, screaming, enthusiasm riding the air currents, making its way into the car, and sweeping mostly unnoticed around the occupants. A smooth change of gears and they're braking, and Larry's hand slides unobstructed up and over, landing dead centre on a place he'd been working hard to avoid the last however-many minutes. Edge gasps, can't help himself, whether the driver can hear or not suddenly the least of his concerns.

And grinning fit to break his face, Larry shifts, using that momentum to clamber over and around Edge as the door opens, flashbulbs going off in their faces as he pushes off from the Edge's thigh, nodding graciously at the crowd.

Edge can't restrain an answering grin, knows he must look utterly ridiculous, collapsed boneless in the back seat of the car still, the aftershocks of that touch still rippling through him undiminished, knows he should be following Larry into the venue, making nice to the reporters and chatting with the fans.

But right now he'll just savour the moment.

And maybe plot a little revenge.


End file.
